


Unsteady

by Siriusfanatic



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Hawkeye (Comics)
Genre: Devilhawk, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, partially deaf clint barton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 09:44:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6369889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siriusfanatic/pseuds/Siriusfanatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt stumbles into Clint's apartment one night after a brawl with the Russians, and Clint begins to wonder why Daredevil is spending so much time fighting Clint's battles for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unsteady

 

 

                Clint did his best to lay on his left side at night, otherwise his limited hearing and tendency to sleep hard would leave him dead to the world.

                But even in doing so, he did not hear the sound of his apartment window being pried open, or the shuffling sound of heavy feet climbing over the clutter that framed them. It was not until Lucky, who slept curled close to Clint’s sprawled figure in the bed, lifted his shaggy bronze colored head toward the sound and let out a small, rumbling bark that the Avenger stirred from his sleep.

                The dog shambled off the bed with his usual limp as Clint rolled into a crouch beside the bed, reaching under and grabbing his bow and quiver. Lucky’s paws pattered across the loft floor, skittering piles of discarded clothing and bare floor, creating moments of muffled silence followed by the skittering of claws on wood as the animal made his way down the loft stairs and barked softly.

                Clint rose and moved through the darkness, taking aim at the floor below, squinting through the shadows into the pale blue-grey light that streamed through the two tall narrow windows that lined the far wall of his apartment.

                There was a figure there, silhouetted by the bright moonlight outside. The man was hunched, unsteady on his feet, cradling what appeared to be an injured limb and leaving dark smears of something on his wall and window sill.

                “Matt!”

                Clint flipped over the rail of the upper floor and rolled into a landing, rushing to catch Matt Murdock, aka Daredevil as he stumbled forward.

                Matt fell against him hard, and the limp heaviness of his body told Clint that he had blacked out. His left arm was tacky with blood, dangling uselessly from his shoulder, which seemed to be out of socket. “Oh Matty…Jesus Christ…!” He picked the man up and carried him hastily to the couch, Lucky jogging at his feet, panting and whining with concern. Clint shoed him away, swatting at him and pushing at his muzzle.

                “Off boy! Not now…”

                He reached up and turned on the lamp next to the couch and hissed audibly when he got a better look at his battered lover. Matt’s costume, thick red leather body armor, emblazoned with the double letter D on his chest, was torn and smattered with a darker shade of crimson. Clint pried off his mask/helmet and searched the man’s face and head for signs of trauma.

                There were plenty of bruises, cuts, scrapes, that was never a surprise. Clint patted the man’s stubbly red cheek light, “Come on Matty, don’t make me call EMS…please honey, wake up…”

                Matt groaned quietly, raising a hand in alarm as if to defend himself. Clint caught it in both of his and brought it against his chest, pressing the blood stained fingers over his heartbeat. “It’s me! It’s me…”

                “Clint…” Matt coughed, wincing as he tried to sit up. Hawkeye pressed him back flat against the old worn cushions of the couch, propping a pillow beneath his battered head.

                Matt felt the heightened beat of his lover’s heart under his palm, and his senses brought Clint’s image into his mind’s eye, though it was more vague than usual thanks to his groggy state.

                He smiled with a mouth full of blood-pink teeth. “Guess this is a bad time for late night booty call, hmm?”

                “Dummy,” Clint chided softly, kissing his forehead, cheek and lips before reaching under the couch and pulling out a heavy aluminum box filled with medical supplies. “Who was it this time?”

                Matt coughed thickly again and groaned, his ribs and back shrieking with pain as result of the forced movement. Clint eased him out of his armor and got him undressed. Murdock’s torso was covered in welts and large black and blue bruises, all which the Avenger inspected with a careful hand. The bruises were deep and would leave the other crime fighter sore and stiff for days, probably weeks, but they didn’t seem to be detrimental or life threatening. There would be time for X-Rays later.

                There were cuts that were in need of stitching. Clint wasn’t a professional, but he knew enough to do the patch work. There were two bullet holes in Matt’s left arm, which the blonde probed with a clenched jaw, bracing the tense man below him, who did his best not to squirm in pain.

                “Looks like they came out clean,” his boyfriend mumbled after a few moments, feeling a small sense of relief. Matt nodded too, sighing shakily. Clint fished out a bottle of pain killers from the bottle of the box and helped him guide them to his mouth and swallow. “Were you followed?”

                Matt shook his head. “No…lost them several blocks back.”

                Clint stiffened faintly. “Russians?”

                “Your tracks suit buddies…yeah.” The red head panted. “Busted up a little late night party of theirs at one of their fronts.”

                Hawkeye's pale eyes went wide. “What?”

                Matt felt another rise in the man’s blood pressure, a faint flutter in his pulse. Clint sat back on his haunches, staring at his lover, who could not stare back, his pale milky blue eyes drifting aimlessly from one spot to another in their blindness.

                “Before you get yell, “Matt offered, “could you pop my shoulder back in place?”

                Grunting, Clint obliged and Matt yelped with pain as the bones popped back into socket, but at least relief was swift. “Thanks babe…”

                “The track suit Dracula’s are _my_ problem.”

                “ _Our_ problem.” Matt corrected. “It’s not just your building they’re after, Clint. You know this is much, much bigger than all of that.”

                “Yeah, I get that.” Clint replied tensely, “But we agreed, Matt. You were gonna handle them your way, as Matt Murdock, laywer and public defender. You and Foggy were supposed to be the good cops on this, making sure they couldn’t box us in on a technicality, proving they were breaking the law.”

                “Yes, I know. And I still am.”

                “How are you gonna explain showing up in court like this?”

                Matt shrugged, which was a terrible idea. “I’m a blind guy, right? I have…accidents.”

                Clint stood up then and walked away, hand over his mouth, as if he could disguise his frown from the man who couldn’t even see it to begin with. “Babe…”

                “I know you think you’re taking care of me. I know you think you’re helping. But don’t.”

                “Why wouldn’t I?” Daredevil asked, forcing himself into a slumped, seated position on the couch, grunting with the effort but forcing his focus onto his lover. “We both got beef with these guys—“

                “You didn’t go there just because of that.” Clint snapped. “You went there because you don’t think I can handle them on my own.”

                Matt paused quietly and then sighed, rubbing the large welt on his head. “Clint…you’re amazing at what you do. You have to be, don’t you? You’re a goddamn Avenger for God’s sake. But I have something to offer, something you don’t have the luxury of.”

                The blonde cocked his head, arms still folded across his chest. “A night stick? Ninja training?”

                “Amenity.”  The other answered. “See, when Daredevil goes out looking for a fight, Matt Murdock doesn’t have to wake up the next morning, expecting the same thugs, who know where he lives, to come breaking down the door. Matt Murdock can make excuses and go about his day, and the criminals and thugs can’t hate me from afar. But that’s all.” He turned his gaze in Clint’s direction, his sonar detection easily picking him out, “Hawkeye doesn’t have that benefit.”

                “I’ve got it handled.”

                Matt frowned in frustration, letting his head fall back against the couch for a moment and rubbing his hands across his face, “Dammit…you go days without sleep, watching this building, doing checks on the tenants because you’re afraid for them. You barely leave the place, unless you’re putting out a fire somewhere else and getting your ass beaten to a pulp in the act—“

                “You sayin’ I can’t hack it!”

                “I’m sayin’ you can’t do it alone!”

                Clint threw out his arms in exasperation. “ _Really?_ Really, Mr. Public Defender? I can’t handle it on my own…cause uh, you know, I’m still here, ain’t I? And everyone else…well they’re still here too. They’re here cause I made them a promise. And yeah, maybe I do get a good beat down now and again. I’m not smart enough to build myself a super suit, or lucky enough to get super serum to make me god damn invincible. I wasn’t even fucking lucky enough to get some shitty mutant powers! But you know what…I am still here!”

                “I know…I know.”

                There was a long exhale between the two of them where no one spoke. Lucky whimpered quietly and moved from Clint’s side to Matt’s, laying his shaggy, one-eyed head on the man’s leg. The ginger-haired man stroked him absently.

                Clint sighed, rubbing his bloodshot eyes and raking a trembling hand through his short blonde hair and then moved forward, reaching for Matt and easing him up. “Think you can make it up the steps?”

                “Yeah…no.”

                Clint nodded and lifted him gently. Matt was a bit longer, and leaner than he was, though his armor usually gave him the illusion otherwise. He carried the man up the loft steps to the bed and deposited him lightly on the mattress, propping the pillows behind his head and under his back. “Those pills kicking in yet?” he asked.

                “Starting to…” Matt mumbled tiredly. He reached and found Clint’s hand, pulling the man down beside him in the bed and pulled him into a clumsy kiss. “I love you. I’m sorry…you know…you know I…”

                Clint nodded and kissed him to hush him. “Yeah, I know, babe.”

                “If it makes you feel any better…you won’t have to worry about at least eight of them for awhile. They will be resting up in prison hospital, and will likely be arraigned while they’re still in casts and crutches.”

                “Well,” Hawkeye smirked. “That does put me in a better mood.”

                He settled down on the bed beside the man, trying to be careful not to jostle him, and Lucky leapt up and settled down at their feet, absently chewing at one of Clint’s socks, licking his toe through the hole in it. “Sure you don’t want me to call Claire…”

                “No…no. Let the woman have a night off.” Murdock mumbled thickly, already feeling dazed and bleary, ready to sleep this night off.

                “Alright,” Clint mumbled. “But if you crash on me, and I gotta get an ambulance, you’re paying the bill.”

                “Deal.”

                Clint grabbed a throw pillow and tucked it under his head, nuzzling up close to the battered man and laying his forehead against his, keeping Matt’s hand pressed over his heart, which both men found soothing. “I love you, dummy. Stop getting your face smashed in. I like the shape it is now.”

                “Ditto, wise guy.”

                Clint kissed him and closed his eyes. Matt did the same, drifting off rather quickly.

 

***

 

                Matt woke up, ten hours later, groggy and stupid with a horrible stale taste in his mouth. He flexed his muscles, only faintly, in an effort to shift from his awkward position, only to find that everything from his head down to his thighs throbbed.

                “Ffffffuuuuck….” He hissed.

                He needed aspirin. And ice. And then a heating pad. Although he wasn’t sure if that was the correct order, but who gave a damn?

                “Clint…babe? You here?” he croaked, knowing at once the bed was empty beside him. There was movement however, and Lucky came scampering up the steps and leapt eagerly onto him, making him wince and groan and began lovingly slurping his face.

                Matt laughed and grimaced all at once. The dog’s slobbery breath smelled like odd pepperoni and sausage, with a subtle hint of sweaty sneaker. “Lucky, precious…I’m sending a memo to Karen to pick up some doggy tooth brushes for you. Now, repeat after me… ‘I must stop eating out of the trash’. Kay?”

                The dog barked and licked him again before scurrying away. Matt wiped his sobered face on edge of the blanket and fumbled for his cane, which Clint made sure was placed dutifully at his bedside.  He found the handle and pulled himself out of bed, inching his way across the loft floor the staircase, thankful that Clint had installed an extra rail for him, to keep him from slipping.

                “Hello? Anyone home?” he called again.

                No answer, and his heightened senses were giving him no feed back as to another presence in the small apartment. Clint must have stepped out for a moment, probably to run to the bodega on the corner for provisions. Hawkeye’s fridge usually consisted of a six pack of alcohol, on-the-go-protein shakes (no doubt provided by Kate)  the kind of cheese that came wrapped in individual plastic wrappers, eggs, old pizza and a box of circus crackers.

                Matt could smell that the coffee pot had been left on. Clint’s favorite brand, ground at a local shop in Hell’s Kitchen. Same place Foggy and he frequented for the daily coffee runs. The pot smelled hot and slightly stale, Matt guessed it had been on for maybe an hour or more. That made his stomach tense slightly.

                He felt Lucky brush against his leg, making his way to the dog bowl perched next to the island counter, munching at his food, which seemed to be wet, gravy filled dog food topped with fried egg, now cold.

                Murdock scratched the top of the dog’s head, feeling the old scars and places where his poor head had been operated on beneath his fur. “Where’s daddy, boy? Not like him to just wander off.”

                Lucky grunted.

                “Okay, it’s very like him. Just…not while I’m around.”

                He was no longer wearing his costume, and somehow Clint had managed to get him into a spare pair of his pajama pants and clean shirt while he had been sleeping. It was thoughtful, but left Matt at another disadvantage, as he now had no idea where his phone was.

                Luckily, Clint Barton, was probably one of the last remaining New Yorker’s who still had a landline in his apartment. He felt along the kitchen wall, groping for the phone, only to hear the approach of feet, and the faint sound of keys jangling inside a crowded purse, and the distant sound of muffled music coming overhead phones. Pop music, very bright and bubbly and feminine.

                The key was pushed into the lock and the door was pushed lightly open. “Matt?” A woman’s voice called.

                The redhead paused in his search and turned, trying to look more casual than he felt. He recognized the voice of Kate Bishop, the other Hawkeye, right away, though his encounters with her had been few over these last few weeks since he had gotten to know Clint.

                “Over here, Kate.”

                The girl stepped more fully into the apartment, her long black hair falling over her shoulders, as she adjusted her heavy messenger bag and pulled off her sunglasses, looking at Matt fully in the dim light of the apartment.

                “Oooooh!” she hissed, gritting her teeth at the sight of him. “Man, Clint wasn’t kidding when he said you got the tar kicked out of you…” she stepped a little closer, closing and locking the door behind her. “You’re still way too good looking though. Like…I don’t know what it is, but somehow you guys always look more attractive when you’re black and blue. Where as women like me…we just look like we’re girlfriends on America’s Most Wanted.”

                Matt laughed quietly. “I’m sure that’s not true. From what Clint tells me, you’d be beautiful even if you had all your teeth knocked out and had two black eyes.”

                “He said that?” she quipped. “Gross…” she added, but he could hear the smile in her voice. “I have lost several teeth since I took this damn job…but you didn’t need to know that.” She spoke, more to herself at first and then with a tightened, embarrassed air that made Matt smile even more. “Shut up, Kate, oh my god…”

                She dropped her bag onto the counter and turned to the red haired man more fully, “SO…anyway…Clint called a little while ago, asked me to come check in on you. He had some, ya know, work business to take care of.”

                “What kind of work?”

                “I dunno…polishing Steve Roger’s shield? Buffing the dings out of Tony Stark’s suit? Avenger stuff.”

                She paused then, and Matt heard her pulse quicken slightly as she tensed. “Wow…what happened in here?”

                “Sorry?”

                Kate turned away from the counter and started around the room, noting that at least one bookshelf had been turned over, broken in several spots, books turned and strewn across the floor. The couch was flipped upside down, and Clint’s practice targets that stood against the far wall had been shot so full of arrows that they were barely still in one piece.  There was a large chunk of plaster knocked out of the wall by the window, and as Kate turned to look in the bathroom, she saw glass on the floor and blood on the sink.

                “Holy shit…”

                “Kate, what’s wrong?”

                “Did you see Clint at all this morning? I mean—shit—you know what I mean!”

                “No, I just woke up a few minutes ago.” Matt said, his voice tight with growing dread. The girl came closer to him, digging in her purse again and fumbling with her phone. “Kate, tell me what’s going on.” He commanded.

                “Right. Sorry-sorry…it looks like someone trashed the place. Maybe someone took Clint and didn’t know you were here…”

                “Fuck!”

                “Yeah, I know!” she quipped, “I don’t know who to call first, should I—“

                They heard the door then and both looked up in surprise as Clint poked his head through the door. “Hey, I’m home.” He called.

                They both looked in his direction, slack jawed and wide-eyed.

                The blonde stepped fully into the room, his arms laden with tote bags full of supplies and take out. He blinked back and forth between them. “Whoa…what’s that face for?”

                “Really?!” Kate screeched. She smacked him on top of the head with her phone, making him yelp and duck away from her. “Oh my GOD, Clint Barton you are the fucking worst adult I know! And yes, I’m including my father and his 21 year old wife, who work with the crime syndicate!”

                “Geez, what’d I do!”

                “You scared the hell out of me! Who leaves their apartment like this?! And you-! Look at you! Did you get hit by a bus!?”

                Clint shuffled past her, dropping the bags on the counter next to her purse, allowing a few of the items to roll across the counter space. Poptarts, soup, extra strength aspirin, bandages, girl scout cookies…

                “How I keep my place, is none of your business.” He said matter of factly.

                Kate gawked, outraged, as Matt moved closer and took hold of his lover’s arm. To his surprise, he felt fresh bandaging there that he couldn’t recall from the night before, and felt Clint tense at the contact. The wound underneath must still be paining him.

                “What happened?”

                “Nothing…I had a little fall last night, and I may or may not have gotten angry about it…” he muttered, putting the food away and ignoring the concern on both of their faces.

                “Did the stairs punch you in the face? Or cut your arm and hand up like that?” Kate asked.

                “Stairs are awfully viscious at 3 am when you’re not paying attention…”

                Hawkeye took in a deep breath and held it for a moment, and Matt heard the faint scrape of her polished nails gripping the counter top. After a moment she bowed her head and exhaled softly. “Okay…you’re a clutz. No one is surprised by that I guess.” Her voice was tight, but softer now and Matt glanced at her questionably. She laid her hand over his and rubbed it quickly, as if to assure him of something that he didn’t understand. “Since you both look so pitiful…want a hand cleaning up?”

                “Oh Katie,” Clint said quickly, “You don’t—“

                “I insist. The place could use a good clean. Where do you keep the vacuum cleaner?”

                “Um,” her mentor said thoughtfully…”in Clare’s apartment.”

                She sighed tiredly. “Alright. Okay. I’ll go get it.” She pulled him away from his task of shelving peanut butter, and pushed him gently towards Matt. “Both of you, upstairs, in bed. I don’t care if you’re making out, but pants and underwear are to remain on while I’m in the apartment. Got it?”

                “What kind of horn-dog do you take me for?” Clint pouted.

                She rolled her eyes, “And that doesn’t mean go for a quickie while I’m getting the sweeper, either!” she called, grabbing her keys and heading towards the door again.

                Matt took Clint’s bandaged hand lightly in his, holding his fingers. “Guess she told you.”

                “Yeah, she’s always telling me.” Clint chuckled. He leaned in and kissed Matt’s bruised face, and reached into a bag to produce a bag of frozen cauliflower, which he pressed against the beaten man’s face. Matt sighed gratefully and held it there as Clint lead him back upstairs and settled them both into bed again.

                “This feels amazing but…I’d hate for you to waste your vegetables.”

                “It’s cauliflower. No one gives two shit about cauliflower. It takes like the vegetable equivalent of warm, wet socks.”

                Matt laughed, though it ached him to do so and snuggled against the slightly smaller man, running his hands across his skin, discretely checking for more injuries. The damage seemed to be limited to Clint’s arms and face, which was good…but didn’t match up with his story. Nor did these seem to be defensive wounds.

                Matt had dealt with the Russians too long and knew their fighting style too well to think that this was their work. Something else was going on for certain, but he was afraid to ask what. His logical, critical mind was already sending up an abundance of red flags that had his own heart beating faster and his hands clasping nervously at Clint’s skin, wanting to hold, shelter and protect.

                He knew the signs…but he didn’t know if he could bare to confirm his suspicions.

                “You wanna talk?” he asked quietly as Clint turned on the tv across from their bed. He always kept it low, so not to overwhelm Matt, and put the captions on for himself, so he wouldn’t have to strain to hear.

                Clint shook his head, leaning it against Matt’s again breathing and exhaling briefly. “Too tired. I just want a nap. A very, very long nap.”

                “Nap sounds good. Then what?”

                “Hmmm…pizza.”

                “And?”

                “Shower…and…would it be too optimistic to say sex?”

                Matt kissed him gently, feeling the swelling across his lover’s cheek bone and eye, a lump forming in his throat. “I think in our present condition it would be…somewhat embarrassing and pathetic to watch us try. Unless you don’t mind hearing “ow” between all the “yes, oh that’s good, fuck me harder”

                “Hey!” Kate’s voice sounded from downstairs, making them jump. “I said no funny business! Freakin’ superhero perverts…”

                “Don’t be jealous, Katie! We’re just in love!”

                She groaned loudly from below, and that was their que to leave her to their work. Clint smiled in spite of himself and looked at his lover again. “She’s really a very charming girl.”

                “I’m sure.”

                The two pulled the purple comforter over their battered limbs and made themselves as comfortable as possible, with no small amount of groaning and wincing in between. Matt wrapped himself around Clint from behind, leaning his mouth next to his good ear.

                “You take pretty good care of me, you know. Not sure how I got so lucky.”

                Clint smiled and held his hand against him tightly. “I could do better.”

                Matt winced, hearing the note of shame in Clint’s voice, knowing what must have gotten into his head, and where those cuts and bruises had really come from. He kissed the man’s neck and shoulder softly. “You are enough, Clint. You were always enough.”

                His lover said nothing, pushing his face a little further into the pillow and Matt closed his eyes and kept his face against his neck, holding the shorter man tight. Despite the roar of the sweeper below, and crackle of broken glass being sucked up by it, followed by Lucky’s yips, the two managed to fall asleep again.

 

****


End file.
